


The Dreaded Question

by PersnicketyParsnip



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 20:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3354221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersnicketyParsnip/pseuds/PersnicketyParsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran knew the Warden wouldn't be able to resist him forever; the question was why it took so long in the first place. What could be making his Warden so nervous about a simple massage? </p><p>Zevran/Male Mahariel, fluff for Valentine's Day in which a very ticklish Warden tries his best to keep it a secret- and clearly fails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dreaded Question

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little Drabble for Valentines day! Comments always appreciated.  
> I've tried my best, but there may be typos as I didn't want to bother my Betas with my drabble silliness.  
> Enjoy!

Anyone who thought the smell of wet dog was the worst Ferelden had to offer was naïve indeed, or so Zevran had learned on his journey with the wardens. They had entered the Frostback Mountains with the harsh southern winds whipping around them and what Mahariel called a “light” snowfall. The trek had only become more unforgiving since it’s start. Each member of their party seemed to droop like a wilting plant as they made camp. They had stopped early this evening as these days their feet dragged with the stubbornness of a hundred old mules, and the bumps and bruises from their run in with the local bandits needed tending. With the tents up and the fire crackling, Zevran settled in as close to the flame as was possible without actually catching on fire. He rubbed idly at his aching hands as his eyes locked on the Warden. His Warden.

The view was idyllic as usual, even with all the elf’s focus caught up in tending to the grimy arrows he had pulled from the bandits after the battle. It was important to salvage what they could, after all. They never knew when they would be able to buy more. He sat with his brow furrowed and his lips pursed, far too troubled a look for it to have anything to do with the task at hand. Ever since leaving the Arl’s Castle he had been extraordinarily quiet.

Several long moments later, the Warden finally looked up from his arrows and met Zevran’s eye. “Something I can help you with?” He asked, some of the harshness melting away from his features. Oh, there were a great many things Zevran would’ve appreciated his help with, but the Warden hadn’t accepted any of his offers. For what it was worth though, the Warden had been a surprisingly good sport about most other things, even his own attempted assassination. How this was so in such troubled times, Zevran could never be sure.

“I was thinking perhaps there was something I could help you with. Surely this day has left you… Tense.” He crowed, watching the man lift one eyebrow skeptically. “You would be surprised what even a moment of massage could do for that.”

With the slightest smile, the warden replied, “This again?” and turned his gaze back to the arrow in his hands.  “I’m guessing you’re the man for the job?”

“I am merely saying the offer stands.” As it had for weeks now. The Warden had been surprisingly resistant to his charms.

 “Tempting offer.” The Warden replied without missing a beat as he turned the arrow over in his hands.

“And yet you have not taken it. I’m impressed by your resolve…” Zevran chuckled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and folding his hands under his chin. It was curious- the warden’s gaze was often on him, these things he could sense. The Dalish had even gone so far as to joke about his plans to ravish him in victory, when this was all over… Surely though they did not have to wait that long though. Did they? He was beginning to wonder. “And I am beginning to doubt the truth of your words.”

The Warden rolled his shoulders and took on a contemplative expression for a moment. “I work in mysterious ways, don’t I?” He said as he placed the arrow back in his quiver. “But perhaps you’re right, a massage could be… Helpful.” He looked around the tired camp- many of the others had gone to bed already, leaving the place quiet, but for the two of them and the soft crackling of the fire.

Zevran could sense a mild hesitation about the man still. “It does not need to be more than that, you know. I can keep my hands to myself… Unless you do not want me to.”

The Warden shot the assassin an amused look. “I’m touched. Or should we say untouched? The effort that must take for you is truly heroic.”

“Anything for you.” The words came out with more meaning then intended, almost losing their playful tone. The Warden gave him an odd thoughtful look and suddenly he felt as though he was caught red handed with he could not say what. Like a child holding the cookie jar.

Finally, the Warden seemed to have made up his mind. “Alright. You can start with my shoulders.” Relief washed over Zevran, and he walked around the fire to sit behinds the warden, gently removing the top half of the man’s armor, piece by piece. It was strange not seeing deep tan-lines under clothing- but he supposed tanning in Ferelden would’ve been difficult. It was not like Antiva, where the sun left it’s glow on everything in sight. With the armor removed, he placed his hands on the Warden’s shoulders, curling the fingers over them and kneading with his thumbs. He worked slowly, gently.

“How long will this take?” The Warden asked, sinking back into Zevran’s hands.

“It could take all night,” He answered, “These things cannot be rushed.” The Warden was just beginning to relax, and yet he was asking after the time? It was curious indeed. He worked out a knot in the bowman’s shoulder and the Dalish let out the sort of unholy noise that would make a Chantry priestess faint. “I was right, no? No rushing.” The Warden only gave a contented grunt in return.

He worked on the shoulders until the tension had disappeared, then moved slowly down the back, leaning in as he did and gently pressing his lips to the warden’s neck. As his hands reached around to the sides however, the warden snatched at them and Zevran pulled back, confused. Had he gone too far, overstepped his welcome? The warden turned to face him, but instead of a harsh rejection he was met with chapped lips pressing against his own and hands reaching up to cup his face, pulling him into a deep kiss. The enthusiasm was welcome, if momentarily confusing. When the Warden finally pulled back, he murmured, “Perhaps you would join me in my tent?”

“How could I refuse?”

\--x—

The morning light that shone through the tent was entirely unwelcome. Zevran buried his face into the crook of the Warden’s neck, trying to dodge the inevitable wake-up call, but it was no use. The Warden was awake, and trying to disentangle his legs from Zevran’s. It was letting the cold mountain air under the blankets to raise goosebumps on their bare flesh. “You have no patience, you know this?” The blond complained, his arms holding tight to the Warden’s warmth.

“The others will be up soon.” He insisted, though he stopped struggling to free himself. 

“Then let them be up.” Zevran argued.

“And when they take the tent down with us inside it?” The Warden Chuckled. “Don’t pretend Morrigan wouldn’t do it.”

“A few more moments? Perhaps I can finish that Massage?” He offered, hoping to tempt the man out of leaving the bedroll.

“… Why, wouldn’t that take all morning?” At this, Zevran reluctantly opened his eyes and pulled back slightly to check his lover’s expression, which had an odd note of nervousness to it. He felt the same unsettled feeling that had come over him the night before, when the warden snatched his hands.

“Something troubles you.”

“What could trouble me after last night?” The Warden replied. “I’ll have you know I’m thoroughly sated.”

“You do not like massages?” Zevran guessed, although the noises his shoulder rub and brought out of the Warden strongly suggested otherwise. What was it that made Fereldan’s so touchy when speaking of sex, or anything remotely related to it? How was he supposed to know what his Warden liked, what he needed, if he refused to so much as mention what bothered him?

“Of course not.” Zevran let out a small sigh. This was getting him nowhere. Whatever was nagging at his Warden, he refused to share. So instead of asking again, he dragged his hand up from where it rested on the Warden’s hip, gently tracing up his side on a quest to play with his hair. He was content to enjoy the lazy moment while he could. As his hand ghosted over the Warden’s side, however, the other elf let out a violent snort of laughter and squirmed away, rolling out of the blankets.

The surprise on Zevran’s face quickly shifted to a smirk. “Oh, I see.”

“See what?” The Warden replied, “There’s nothing to see.”

“I respectfully disagree.” Zevran said, looking over the exposed Warden appreciatively before crawling towards him. “Are you ticklish?”

There it was; the horrifying question the Warden always dreaded. He had tried everything to get out of it in the past. Lying. Admitting the truth and begging mercy. Changing the subject in the hopes of buying enough time to escape. The thing about it was that no matter how the question was answered, the other person always wanted to test their theory. Zevran was no exception. As the blond began to crawl towards him, the Warden Blurted out the first thing to come to mind, “Are _you_?” It was a terrible comeback. Worthy of Alistair, really, he was ashamed of it.

“Not in the slightest.” Zevran replied, sounding a little too pleased with himself as his hand wandered to the Warden’s stomach to dabble there, fingertips brushing little swirls and patterns into the Warden’s skin as the man fought not to laugh loud enough to wake the whole camp, pressing his forearm to his mouth to try to muffle the noise.

“I-“ Snort. “I don’t-“ It was so difficult to get a word out with him doing that! He swatted at the offending hand. “This is between you and me.”

“You’re worried about our little secret?” Zevran replied as he rested beside the warden, propped up on his elbow.

“Our secret?” Up until now it had rather felt like _his_ secret; something that nobody outside his clan had known. The loss of his clan pained him still, but there was a silver lining to be found in those who did not know him well- the ability to choose what they should learn. Zevran, however, was making a mess of that approach in many ways. “It had better be. If you talk, I will know.”

“Your lack of faith wounds me.”

\--x—

Thank the creators for armor. It had been two weeks now since the incident, and the warden was slowly becoming accustomed to the way Zevran stole gentle strokes at his side when they laid together, or gave him that look afterwards that mixed amusement with tenderness. Who would’ve thought the assassin could be so fixated on something so trivial? Surely he would lose interest soon. Did he enjoy the torment of his poor lover? Of course, it wasn’t all torment; there was softness, pleasure… No, that wasn’t the point he decided, shaking his head to rid himself of the thought. He was twice as grateful for his armor during the days; the leather was shielding his sides from more than just blades. 

Still, Zevran had kept his word. None of their party seemed the wiser about it. If word had gotten out he was sure Alistair would’ve at least had a good laugh about it by now, if he didn’t feel the need to test it for himself. The Warden lay with Zevran in his tent, which had really become their tent, and tried his best to banish the worries. _Anything for you…_ The phrase echoed in his mind. He could trust Zervan, even trust him with his life, and worrying about such a stupid blip of embarrassment was hardly necessary.

He rolled over in Zevran’s arms to lay face to face with him, their legs and feet tangling slightly in the process. His foot brushed the underside of Zevran’s and there was the soft rumble of quiet laughter in his chest. The warden’s eyes widened. “You lair.” He said, a smile creeping onto his face. He sat up and dove for the man’s feet, tickling them as Zevran started to laugh, not holding back, unashamed.

“Oh- eheh- Yes, you’ve caught me, I-“ His sentence fell apart as the warden continued, the laughs getting breathy. Maker’s breath, they had not given this man the markings of Elgar'nan, god of vengeance, for nothing.  It was going to be a long week.


End file.
